


Vessels

by Poetry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Vessels (Supernatural), Castiel Character Study (Supernatural), Consensual Possession, Explicit Consent, Family, Judaism, Other, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/pseuds/Poetry
Summary: Castiel embarks on a cosmic brain-hopping road trip of self-discovery.
Relationships: Castiel/OCs, one-sided Castiel/Dean
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Vessels

**Author's Note:**

> I watched six episodes of Supernatural while strung out on painkillers after a medical procedure, and I thought they were stupid, but also, that gay autistic angel is the only angel who actually makes an effort to possess people consensually, and that's incredibly valid of him. So, against all laws of God and man, I am writing Supernatural fic.
> 
> Content notes: transphobia, anti-Black racism, institutionalization and neglect of autistic people (all of these are clearly condemned by the narrative), mostly responsible drug use, under-negotiated kink.
> 
> Pronunciation guide: For those who need help with the Irish names, the OCs named Siobhan, Maebh, and Sinead are pronounced roughly as "shuh-VON," "maiv," and "shuh-NAID."
> 
> Thanks to haygahr for the helpful comments.

## I.

_Holyoke, MA_

When I found the frequency of Siobhan’s soul in the vast roaring noise of the universe, I sensed that she was at home, comfortable and mellow. I spoke to her through the static. “Are you alone, Siobhan?”

“Gods, Geoff,” she said, coughing. “What is with this new strain of yours? I’m hearing things…”

“Answer me, Siobhan. Are you alone?”

“I’m not alone,” she sighed. “I’m with my husband and my lover.”

That gave me pause. Now that she put words to her surroundings, I could sense through her the presence of two other souls, close to her, but dimmer to my senses. “Am I interrupting an act of adultery?”

“First of all,” she said to the ceiling – I could now sense the contours and orientation of her body – “who are you to judge me? You’re just a voice in my head. Second of all,” she said, jabbing a finger toward the ceiling, a direction that no more accurately described my position than any other, “we are happily polyamorous.”

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have passed judgment. I will return when you are alone,” I said, reflecting that there were many aspects of the human experience the Winchesters did not teach me, which was after all the entire point of the exercise.

More attuned now, I sensed Siobhan awake before her husband in the morning. “Hello again, Siobhan.”

Siobhan, in the midst of preparing food, set down her knife. “You know, Sirius XM isn’t supposed to have static.” She rubbed at her face with her hand. “I guess you’re not just a side effect of Geoff’s new weed. Which one are you, then? You don’t feel like the Morrigan. Brigid, then? Áine?”

That startled me into a laugh, though none of it came through in the static – I never seem to know how to laugh in the ways that mortals can hear. “You’re a pagan.”

Siobhan applied her knife to her breakfast once more. “Is that a problem?”

“I’d say it’s a wise choice, given the current theological landscape. Nevertheless, what I am is an angel. My name is Castiel.”

“Since I don’t believe in angels, Castiel,” Siobhan said, “why don’t you explain that to me in more practical terms? What does your presence mean for me?”

“I don’t occupy your plane of existence,” I said. “I dwell beyond what your senses can explain. But sometimes I feel the need to walk on Earth. There are certain people who can carry me within their mortal frames. You are one of them.”

“Why do you need to walk the Earth, Castiel?” Siobhan pointed her knife toward the sound system, as if I dwelled there. “And what are the terms of the agreement?”

These were difficult questions, ones that Jimmy had never thought to ask me. Perhaps he should have, but he had been taught not to question. Siobhan had been taught differently. “My experience of Earth is… limited. I need to understand more of the human condition. As for terms – you cannot be my vessel without your consent. All I ask is to experience your world through your senses, for as long as you would have me. If I need your mouth to speak, I will ask. In exchange, I can offer any number of boons. Healing to your body. Freedom from exhaustion and hunger.”

“Fix my bad back and I’m yours,” Siobhan said instantly. “You have good timing, actually. The polycule and I are packing for a burn up in Vermont. You’ll see some of the human condition there, believe me.”

Siobhan, Nick, Geoff, and Geoff’s wife, Terri, loaded up a RV with industrial amounts of vegan muffins, tents, garbage bags, and crocheted blankets. (“Terri and I can’t stop crocheting, it’s a habit we picked up, and we offload all the blankets we make at the burn,” Siobhan explained.) She was open with the others about having an “otherworldly being” visiting her for a while, and they took her proclamations with different degrees of good humor. Geoff said, “Tell your otherworldly being it’s got excellent taste in women,” and kissed her, quick and fond. The warmth of his face against hers, of his soul against hers, was shocking.

Siobhan touched her fingers to her lips and smiled. _Oh, Castiel. Haven’t you ever been kissed?_

_Yes,_ I said, thinking of Chastity’s mouth against Jimmy’s, wet and perfunctory. _Never like that._

The burn was at a large rural estate in Vermont, a hilly forest with a pagan shrine around every corner. Siobhan and her group strung up shade-cloths and fairy lights around the RV and propped up a big wooden sign that read “Goddesses Camp.” As the sun sank, mosquitoes emerged, and I redirected them from Siobhan’s exposed skin, bare except for a cloth wrapped around her hips and lines of blue paint down her face and chest.

A man dressed like a lobster, complete with red face paint and inflatable pincers, came by Goddesses Camp offering small strips of translucent paper. _Castiel,_ Siobhan said. _Moonchild is offering a hallucinogen. Is that an experience you might be interested in?_

_Humans have used these substances since time immemorial to achieve ecstatic communion with the Divine,_ I said. _Yes, I’m interested. Though I should tell you now: while you are my vessel, you may find a different sort of communion than you have before._

_Sounds wicked,_ Siobhan thought, and she pressed the little strip of paper to her tongue, burning bitter. She laid down, side by side with Nick, beneath a vast light display shining through the forest canopy. Geometric webs of rainbow light connected the trees, strobed, and reappeared in a new configuration. Sometimes the light became like soap bubbles, round and wobbling, that popped all in unison. The warm press of Nick’s hand into Siobhan’s was a symphony, a shade of meaning in every place the fingers met or were apart. _Oh,_ I thought. _You humans can only feel this when you’re close. The music of each other. No wonder you value personal space so highly._

_It has a high value,_ Siobhan thought, bringing the deafening drumbeat of Nick’s knuckles to her lips, _because it is such a great gift, to the right person._

“I want to dance,” Nick said. “Come with?”

“Maybe in a little while,” Siobhan said. “Castiel and I need to pay our respects to the moon.” She walked out to the tree-line, where the clouds and the moon became legible to our sight. I read them all, God’s messages in the moonlight on the clouds, written in Hebrew and Enochian and even Siobhan’s Gaelic. He had so many wondrous things to say. Had He really spoken them all? Did He falter when his voice grew hoarse with quiet?

“Nice woad-paint,” said a sunny voice, coming up beside Siobhan. I felt the bright flare of the soul accompanying it, all clear lines and mathematics and symbols imbued with power. “Want a brownie? It’s special!”

“I’m already tripping balls,” Siobhan said slowly, tearing her gaze from the moon. When she looked at the clear beautiful order of the soul who had approached us, she saw it in the same way I did, and she swayed on the spot at the sight. “Oh, but thank you. You’re beautiful on the inside, you know! I’m Siobhan. Goddesses Camp.”

The soul brightened and sparked. “Aww. You’re beautiful too, Siobhan! I’m Charlie. Hacker Camp. I programmed the light show,” she said, waving back toward the glorious iridescent weave of starlight lacing through the tree canopy.

_May I speak, Siobhan?_ She allowed me to say, “Charlie, you have insight into the celestial patterns of the universe itself.”

“That’s so sweet! You really are tripping balls,” Charlie said. She looked deep into our eyes. “You’re not quite human, are you?” I must have reacted in some noticeable way, because she held up her hands, palms out, and said, “Hey, it’s okay! I know you’re not all monsters. I learned about you from a couple of hunters, and then I started noticing things on my own, and some of you are really cool! One of the DJs here is a werewolf. Her partner is a witch and helps her control her symptoms – ”

“You’re right,” Siobhan said. “I’m not quite human.” _Do you want to tell her?_

_I think she’d enjoy it if I kept her guessing._ I said, “I swear by my Name that I mean you no harm.” I focused as hard as I could on smiling with the parts of me that were within Siobhan. “Tell me what I am.”

Charlie smiled. “I like a challenge.” She held out a hand. “Dance with me?”

In the beginning, we were not warriors. There were no wars to fight. We danced and sang praises. It was such a long time ago, and I discovered that night that I’d missed it ever since. Charlie and Siobhan and I danced the rhythm of the universe, and I sang, _Eli, eli, shelo yigamer le’olam_ , in a voice that did not shatter glass or human minds _._ In the long, dreamy sunrise hour that it took for Siobhan to come down from her high, Charlie finger-combed mats from her hair and said, “Whatever you are, I think you’re a ray of sunshine.”

After the revelers lit the vast wooden effigy aflame, in the tradition of their forebears for millennia, Siobhan asked me, _Can you possess anyone else besides me?_

Too ashamed to admit my mistakes with the Novaks, I said, _Any close relative of yours. Siblings, parents, children. I am attuned to your bloodline._

_Huh. Aren’t we special,_ Siobhan thought, chugging water from a jug as she loaded up a garbage bag with crumpled streamers. _Could you go visit my mother, then? She doesn’t get out enough, and I think a spin with you would be just the thing._

I began to disentangle myself from the fibers of her being. _Where is she?_

_Hey, wait! Let me call her first!_ Siobhan put down the water jug and got out her cell phone. _She’s gonna love you. She actually_ believes _in angels._

## II.

_Ithaca, NY_

I was shy of taking another true believer as a vessel after Jimmy’s helpless, self-destructive devotion, but I felt I owed Siobhan, after she had fulfilled her end of our agreement more thoroughly than I ever could have hoped. I knew one thing for certain: I would not ask Maebh to submerge her hand in boiling water.

Like her daughter, Maebh listened to the radio in the morning. Through the static, I said, “Hello, Maebh,” and didn’t ask if she was alone, because Siobhan had already told me she lived by herself.

Maebh set down her cup and crossed herself. “Blessings be upon you, Castiel.”

This business of approaching a vessel for possession was much simpler when they had already been briefed. “No need. I ought to be the one to bless you. I am the messenger of His light.”

“Sorry. I don’t know the protocol for meeting an angel. The ladies in the sculptures and the paintings look very inspired and rapturous, but that’s no etiquette guide, is it?”

“Divine ecstasy,” I said. “I’ve never administered it, but if that is what you require in exchange for your time as my vessel, I could try to – ”

“Oh no,” Maebh said. “Thank you, but I’m quite all right, I’ve got an electric massager. Siobhan says you can do something about my hearing loss?”

“Ah. Yes, of course.” It was, in all honesty, a relief. Ecstasy made humans vulnerable and open. There was only one human I had ever seen that way, delicate insides and all, and it had made a lasting impact I had yet to fully assimilate. “Are you ready to receive my grace?”

Maebh’s eyes narrowed. “I told you: no divine ecstasy.”

Perhaps there had been some failure in communication. “Fully understood, Maebh. I offer miraculous healing in exchange for time as my vessel, to end whenever you wish.”

With Maebh’s hearing sharpened as much as the limitations of her body would allow, she could hear music drifting in through the open window. “Oh, that’s right!” she said. “It’s Porchfest this weekend. I haven’t done Porchfest in years.”

_What is Porchfest?_ I asked.

“Here, let me show you.” Maebh stood up. “Ooh, that just got easier! Did you cure my arthritis, too? You’re a sweetheart.” She reached for her cane, carved with curling leaves and a handle shaped like a branch. “I’ll take this just in case.”

I had often heard humans speak of feeling old. This had been hard to me to understand. I, too, felt old, but even the oldest human was very young to me. With Maebh as my vessel, I began to understand what it meant for a human to feel old. Part of it was physical: my best efforts to heal Maebh had still left her slow, and sensitive to the sun; she pulled the brim of her straw hat low. Part of it, unexpectedly, was in relation to other humans: there were many young people walking down her street, toward the music, and she remembered what it was like to be their age, and felt old in her distance from them.

As Maebh walked, I asked her, _How do you feel about your daughter’s lifestyle?_

Maebh snorted. _Which part of her lifestyle? The paganism and polyamory?_

_Yes._ I had a vague sense that the Winchesters would disapprove of these things, and I wanted to understand why that might be.

_She says the paganism is about connecting to our ancestors, but I say what’s done is done. Ireland was converted to the Church centuries ago, and there’s no use trying to bring the old ways back. She’s chasing a fool’s dream, you ask me._ I noticed a small crowd gathered in the front yard of an old house with a wraparound porch. _As for the polyamory? Another fool’s dream. It’d be nice if human beings could live that way, loving everyone equally and fairly. But I figure one at a time is the best our tarnished souls can manage. Still, I’m not going to tell my daughter how to live my life. My mother tried to tell me how to live mine, and I know just how well that worked out._

I concluded that Maebh was not cruel in her disapproval of her daughter. She wanted the best for her, and they disagreed about what that meant. I had seen that before – I had lived that before, with the Winchesters. Still, having lived Siobhan’s life for three days, I concluded that Maebh’s fears were misplaced.

On the wraparound porch, musicians tuned their instruments: two xylophones and a drum set. Maebh stood, watching, leaning on her cane, until a younger woman tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Why don’t you come sit with my aunt? We brought a spare lawn chair.”

Maebh thanked the woman and eased herself into the lawn chair next to someone about her age, with a cane of her own propped up against her chair, sturdier and more practical than Maebh’s. “How are you going? I’m Maebh,” she said, offering her hand.

“Gabriela,” said the other, with a handshake.

The musicians began to play – Hawaiian music, gentle and resonant like a soft wind. It had a hollower resonance than it did on the islands, played on shark-hide and gourd drums, but it was still beautiful. Around us, the young people passed around water bottles and parasols and recorded the show on cameras and phones.

At the end of the set, Gabriela said wistfully, “My brother would have loved this concert. He was fascinated by music from around the world – he had a record collection of South African and Japanese and Andean music. I don’t know if he ever got to hear Hawaiian.”

“Tell me about your brother,” Maebh said.

“His name was Julio. He died back in ’63,” Gabriela said, and in that moment I saw the constructive interference of her soul with the vast roaring noise of the universe, and I knew she spoke of the same Julio whose Tuesday afternoon heaven I visited regularly since he arrived there in 1963. “It should never have happened. Our parents should never have sent him to that institution – but he had autism and epileptic fits, and it was the done thing, back then. Well, they left him unsupervised in the bath and he had one of his fits, and…”

“These days, it wouldn’t have happened,” Maebh agreed. “I was a lecturer in early childhood education at Ithaca College for twenty years. They try to keep them out of the institutions, now.”

“Sorry,” Gabriela said. “I’m such a Debbie Downer. I’m bringing down the whole mood of this lovely Porchfest.”

_May I speak, Maebh?_ She allowed me to say, “Please. Don’t hold back. Tell me more.”

I had spoken to Julio before when visiting his heaven. We talked about kites and gardens, prevailing winds and flower varietals. Polite conversation. But he’d never talked about his life story. Gabriela told me about walking together to the record store, trying out candies at the five-and-dime to see which ones he liked, bringing a bag of his favorites when she went to visit him at the institution. He had been lonely and understimulated at the institution, she told me, and I realized, with the constricting pain of bonds on my wings, that he was now lonely and understimulated forever.

Unless I did something to change that.

“Thank you,” I told her, my voice rough. “For telling me his story.”

As she walked on the next porch concert, Maebh said, _You know that man. Her dead brother._

_I do. Every soul makes its own heaven, when they go there, and Julio’s is my favorite. It’s orderly and peaceful. He knows just what he likes. That is a rare quality in a human._

_Can angels be autistic?_ Maebh wondered.

_No, Maebh. We don’t have nervous systems. Still, we can feel a kinship, if we choose to._

(Later, the next time I visited Julio’s heaven, I told him about my encounter with Gabriela. I told him she was sorry the family abandoned him, friendless, in a place he didn’t belong. Julio didn’t react in any obvious way. But he reeled in his kite and walked upslope through the gardens. He sat down at a bench, where a bag of colorful five-and-dime candies awaited him. He silently offered me the bag. I shook my head, but stayed and sat with him on the bench as he chewed his way through the candies.)

## III.

_Boston, MA_

Maebh asked me to visit her granddaughters next. (“Especially that Niamh. Her mother and I have barely heard from her for months. She was always a bit of a wild child, even by Siobhan’s standards.”) After leaving some time for Maebh and Siobhan to explain me and my relationship to their bloodline, I visited Niamh’s address, and immediately knew that there was something amiss. Maebh had told me that her granddaughter lived here, but I sensed only one soul in this home whose frequency was attuned to mine, and it was not that of a woman.

There was no radio in this house, so I spoke through the television. “Hello. Answer me if you can hear me.”

“Shh, keep it down, my roommates are trying to sleep!”

“Your roommates can’t hear me. I am the angel Castiel.”

“Yeah, I know, Ma and Grandma told me about you.”

“What is your name?”

Spoken with an air of challenge: “Didn’t they tell you?”

“They did, but I have reason to believe they are mistaken.”

“That’s right. My name is Cypress, and my pronouns are they and them.” They knelt before the television and stared into the depths of the static as if they could divine me there. “You could tell, couldn’t you? That what they told you wasn’t right.” They touched their fingers to the screen. “What about you, huh? Ma used she/her for you, and Grandma used he/him.”

“I don’t have a gender. People usually gender me according to the vessel I occupy at the time.”

“Okay.” Cypress steepled their hands together. “That miraculous healing you did on Ma and Grandma. How far does that stretch?”

“I work within the body’s limitations. In your case…” I reached out, snagged myself in the fabric of Cypress’s being. “I can direct the testosterone you’ve added to your system toward the specific results you most desire.”

“Damn. All right, that’s one hell of an incentive. But what about you?” Cypress said, gesturing toward the television. “Wouldn’t you rather possess my sister? She’s the big brain kid who got a scholarship. I’m just a fuck-up at community college who tends bar to pay rent.”

“I don’t care about your society’s current standards of achievement. You are my Father’s divine creation, and I owe you my respect.”

Cypress got out their phone. “If I get you to say that again, and I try to record it on my phone, it won’t work, will it.”

“No.”

“That’s a shame. I could listen to you say that on repeat to get me out of bed, some mornings.”

“Then I’ll say it to you in the morning while you are my vessel, if you agree.”

Cypress knelt and spread their arms. “Come on in.”

I directed the moderate levels of testosterone in Cypress’s body toward the slashes of their cheekbones, the line of their jaw, and what they delicately called “bottom growth.” Exhausted from the changes, they slept for ten hours. When they woke, as promised, I said, “Cypress, you are my Father’s divine creation, and I owe you my respect.”

“You sound just as sincere as you did the first time,” Cypress said, wonderingly, into their pillow. “Thanks, Castiel.”

They went to the library and studied for history class, with which I was sometimes a help (“when _you_ talk about the War of 1812, it’s way less boring”) and sometimes a hindrance (“I bet you’re right about Napoleon, but I have to go with what the _books_ say!”). I was more helpful on the math problem set, with my ability to clearly visualize idealized shapes in three dimensions, which I superimposed into Cypress’s sight. When it came to the literature essay, I was silent, though I made a mental note to later seek out and read _The Secret Life of Bees_ for myself.

When Cypress packed away their books, they said, _Hey. You didn’t have to help me with that. It wasn’t part of the agreement. I’ll make sure to give you a really good look at the human condition tonight._

_What happens tonight?_ I asked.

_Tonight I have a shift at the bar. Three pm to eleven. Now_ that’s _the human condition._

Cypress likes and trusts everyone they meet, from their co-workers on shift to the office workers dropping in for a round. The only person that evening they did not greet with warmth and understanding was their boss, who joined them behind the bar occasionally to “check on things.”

_Micromanage us, more like,_ Cypress complained, and turned to give advice to a traveler new in town while pulling her a pint of a local brew. This is what they do, far more than mix drinks and maintain food safety standards: listen in on an awkward first date, offer a charger behind the bar for a customer’s dying phone, ask a lone woman with puffy eyes if she wants to talk to someone, meet eyes and smile and take drink orders from –

Dean Winchester.

I could read far more from his soul than any other, even those of my vessels. I knew he and Sam were in Boston chasing down information from one of the city’s many universities, that Sam was currently deeply occupied with research material and Dean had come here, itching with the impatience of a hunt, to “blow off steam,” as he would put it. I knew he was attracted to my vessel. The only unknown was whether any part of that attraction came from some recognition of me in their eyes.

“Sure, _bud_ , we have Budweiser,” Cypress told Dean with a laugh. “Bottled, though. I promise you the Harpoon ale on tap is better.”

“You gonna keep sweet-talking me into your fancy shit, or are you gonna give me my Bud?” Dean said, smiling.

As Cypress reached back to retrieve a bottle of beer from the fridge, they said to me, _You_ know _that guy! You_ like _him._ As they uncapped and served the beer to Dean, they added, _If you_ really _like him, I’d be willing to take one for the team. He’s cute._

Dean’s fingers met Cypress’s for a moment on the side of the beer bottle, electric contact, and I saw him try to categorize Cypress’s age and gender, deciding whether more intimacy was allowed by human law and the laws built up inside his mind. Cypress was old enough to decide, and willing, and there ought to have been no obstacle. But I had gripped Dean’s soul tight, and reconstituted his substance from the atoms up, and I knew that there was. _Don’t, Cypress. He cannot give you the respect you are owed. Not as he is now._

Cypress turned from Dean and chopped up more lime for cocktails. _I’m sorry, Castiel._

_It’s not – I don’t know what kind of intimacy my bond with him demands._ The acid of the limes burned at Cypress’s hands, and I soothed it away. _I’m an angel. I’m still learning how humans relate to each other. It’s entirely possible I will find some way to express our bond that we can both accept._

_Do you want to learn some more? About how humans relate?_ The hot, playful pulse of Cypress’s thoughts left no ambiguity about what they meant.

I considered their offer seriously. Dean had tried previously to initiate me into human sexuality, but he had left me alone with an emotionally wounded stranger and no guidance. This experience might be altogether different. _With a stranger, or a lover?_

Cypress laughed noiselessly, depositing the elegant twists of lime into a bowl. _I wouldn’t call him a lover. More like a booty call. But we’re friends. I like him._

_I accept your offer._

_Oh my God, angel sex!_ Cypress thought, directing their blinding smile at a girl with pink hair leaning over the bar, cash in hand. Over the girl’s shoulder, I saw Dean drinking his beer and flirting with a tall, broad woman in rough work clothes. Someone he could respect, perhaps, and who could respect him in return. _This is going to be the best._

On their next break, they got out their phone and texted: _Heeeey Aideeeeen. U up?_ 😉

_You know, I was gonna try to go to bed early, reset my sleep schedule, but when I get a text like that…_ 😏 

_So remember that exhibitionist kink I told you about?_

_Omg. I should have known this was gonna be something kinky the moment I saw that winky face_

_I found us a voyeur. By video call, not in person. Their name’s Cass_

I realized what Cypress was doing. They were giving Aiden the terms of the agreement, as much as they could, the same way I had negotiated the terms of my agreements with Siobhan, Maebh, and Cypress. The way I hadn’t done with Jimmy, when I had presented him a choice between giving me his entire life and giving me nothing.

_What are they like?_

_Cass is super nice. Kind of awkward. They’re new to this_

_If you trust them, I’m in_

After their shift, Cypress entered the metro and took the Orange Line. (“This is why Aiden and I can’t actually date,” Cypress griped. “I’d have to haul my ass to Malden all the time.”) Aiden lived in the lower third of a rambling house carved up into units, and he greeted Cypress at the door with a dusting of rainbow glitter around his eyes.

“I’m gonna get that shit all over my junk,” Cypress complained.

“I wanted to give your friend something to look at!” Aiden said. “I look pretty in glitter.”

“You look pretty with or without glitter, and boy do you know it,” Cypress growled. They fiddled around with their phone, putting on the appearance of making a video call, then slipped the phone into the front pocket of their polo shirt, camera facing out. “Smile, Aiden. You’re on Candid Camera.”

Aiden waved at the phone. “Hey, Cass!” he said. It felt strange to be addressed directly in this context. “Do I get to see you?”

“No,” said Cypress. “This is a one-way street. But I’ll tell you if they text anything from the peanut gallery. Hold still, let me strip you, baby.” They grasped at Aiden’s filmy shirt and pulled it up over his head, as he moved his arms up to help. Beneath, he wore a tight garment around his upper chest, which Cypress caressed but did not remove. They pressed up against Aiden, warmth to warmth, and enfolded him in their arms. His heart thundered against theirs through the layers of cloth. _Getting as close to someone as you can possibly get,_ Cypress thought. _I love this part._ They pulled back, leaving a small warm space between their bodies. _But you have to make some space if you wanna kiss._

These kisses weren’t like Chastity’s or Geoff’s. Cypress kissed Aiden like God’s burning bush before Moses: a fire that blazed high and consumed, without ever reducing to ash. They _knew_ Aiden, and that meant they knew how hard they could bite at his lips without truly hurting him; that pressing their knee into the seam of his leather pants would pull tight the tension in his body without satisfying his needs; how to avoid the perpetual bruises on his hips from roller derby practice.

“I want to show Cas how well I suck your cock,” Cypress breathed into Aiden’s ear, and held their phone aloft, making my presence more tangible to him as they peeled away his leather pants. The sight of Aiden mostly nude did not inspire any reaction in my angel-self, but my self entangled with Cypress was moved by the bite marks on his neck, the damp cling of his briefs, the self-conscious arousal with which he gazed up at the phone’s camera lens – at me, invisible but present.

_Why do you like to do this to him?_ I could feel truth in Cypress’s body, but I also wanted to hear it in their own words.

_He can’t know what he does to me,_ Cypress said, hungrily taking in the shadow of Aiden’s eyelashes falling over the glitter under his eyes. _No one can, except you, I guess. You’re in my head. But when I do this to him, I feel like I’m force-feeding back to him everything he does to me without even trying._

“What does Cass think?” Aiden breathed.

_May I speak, Cypress?_ They allowed me to say, “Cass wants to see what it’s like to be responsible for your pleasure.”

Then Cypress bent their head, and I did see.

Cypress had to wake up early to get back to their apartment, pick up their problem set, and make it to math class on time. Aiden was fast asleep when Cypress’s phone buzzed next to their ear. _Good morning, Cypress,_ I said. _You are my Father’s divine creation, and I owe you my respect._

_You know, Cass, when_ you _say that, I can almost believe it._ They stretched. _Wow, you really can banish the need for sleep, huh? Normally I’m nuked after getting just four hours._ They rolled over and kissed Aiden on the cheek. He groaned and stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. _So. What did you think of sex?_

_I think I could accomplish it successfully,_ I said, which made Cypress bury their head into the pillow to muffle a laugh. If it were with Dean, I would be glorious at it. I knew his body from the atoms up. _The only remaining question is whether I want to._

_And whether_ he _wants to,_ Cypress thought, remembering Dean at the bar.

_I’ll consider the first question before I try to answer the second,_ I responded, and went silent again as Cypress quietly shimmied their clothing back on, disappearing from Aiden’s bedroom nearly as noiselessly as I had so often departed from Dean’s.

## IV.

_Chicago, IL_

“I don’t need any miraculous healing. My body’s fine,” Sinead said, drumming her pencil against the spiral of her notebook. “You’re going to have to come up with something else.”

Sinead had been the hardest of the family to contact, as she owned neither a television nor a radio. In the end, I had spoken to her through a television in the media lab where she had been working on a film studies assignment, and we had moved the conversation to a private AV room in the library. I said, “I can free you from the need to eat or sleep.”

She jabbed her pencil at the empty air. “I _do_ have a ton of reading for poli sci, so let’s keep that on the table. But I had something else in mind. Ma said that you let her see things she’d never seen before when you were in her head.”

“Your mother was high at the time,” I pointed out.

“Fine, but then Cy said that you could visualize 3D integrals, and they could see it too,” Sinead said.

She had a point. “I have never deliberately attempted to give a vessel my experience of angelic senses. I assumed they were too overwhelming for the human mind to integrate. My assumption might be correct; like I said, your mother was in an altered state when she saw souls the way that I do.”

“Try?” Sinead suggested. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll try to score some weed.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But I will warn you now that I cannot guarantee the safety of your mortal mind.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” said Sinead. “I don’t know if I believe you’re an angel, but you’re definitely _something_ , and I _really_ want to find out what.”

I wanted to make our first attempt in a place with few people, which was difficult to find in Chicago. Sinead took the Purple Line all the way to its northern terminus in Wilmette. It was a rainy day, and there were few visitors to the park along Lake Michigan. Sinead held the handle of her clear, bowl-shaped umbrella close to her chest as she walked along the lakefront.

I brought in the vast, roaring noise of the universe first, transposed into a sound, turned very low, like the gentle hush of a TV tuned to a dead channel. “What’s that?” Sinead said aloud; after all, there was no one around to hear her talk to herself.

_That is… background radiation. Everything in the universe detectable to my senses. If the apocalypse were to happen, I would know right away – this noise would grow sparse, then silent._ Dean had mentioned, once, encountering me in a future where Lucifer and Croatoan decimated the world. He hadn’t shared details, but he had said that in that alternate timeline, I was “messed up.” It was easy for me to imagine why. The world was not meant to be quiet, not to my senses, not ever.

“Okay,” Sinead said cautiously. “My brain’s not exploding, but… that mostly just sounds like white noise, Castiel.”

There were two other souls in the park: an older man walking his energetic young dog, and a municipal worker emptying out the garbage bins. I added the jumbled, discordant frequencies of their souls to Sinead’s sonic landscape. _That’s two souls around us. Do you hear them? And of course, there is yours._ The clearest of all, ringing out to me through all the noise, like a struck tuning fork. Pain blossomed within Sinead. She cried out, and something hot and wet dripped down her face –

I separated my sensorium from Sinead’s. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her raincoat, and it came away red, dissolving in the rain. “Okay,” she gasped. “So it works. Kind of. But you can’t show me my own soul.”

_Apparently not._

Sinead sighed. “Maybe that’s for the best. There might be such a thing as getting to know yourself a little _too_ well.”

Sinead had regular volunteer work tutoring struggling high school students. “It’s here in Hyde Park, and the public transit sucks. Sometimes I just want to say ‘fuck it’ and walk, but. Hmm. If someone tries to hurt me, can you smite them or whatever?”

_Yes. I would not allow you to come to harm._

“Whoa. Okay then. We’ll walk to the community center, then. No problem.”

Sinead’s roommate entered in a bathrobe. “Dude, are you talking to yourself?”

“Roommates have to accept each other’s idiosyncrasies,” Sinead said loftily, and left the dormitory.

As she left the University of Chicago campus and walked out into Hyde Park, Sinead’s pose stiffened and became more vigilant. I did not understand why. There was no evil taint here, no harsh ring of violent intent in the frequencies around us. _Why are you frightened, Sinead?_

“Nothing, it’s just… Hyde Park is kind of a bad neighborhood. UChicago kids get mugged out here sometimes.”

This statement did not square with the reality plain to my angelic senses. But I am no stranger to the poisons of the human soul, and I did not fail to notice the darker skin colors of the people in Hyde Park compared to the people on campus. Racial prejudice was not a malign force I could purge from Sinead’s soul the way hunters exorcised demons, but I could introduce her to the truth.

I took my sense of evil and violent intent and slowly translated it to Sinead’s senses. At first I tried it as a soundscape, but it made Sinead’s teeth rattle. I changed tactics and rendered it into smell: a clean, fresh scent contrasted with a rotting smell for demons and monsters, and a harsh burning smell for more mundane violent intent. I explained the system to Sinead, and we walked on, smelling nothing but a sharp clean scent like a wind off Lake Michigan, except for a faint whiff of smoke when we passed two shrieking children pelting each other with softballs.

_Okay, fine, so maybe I was a little paranoid,_ Sinead admitted, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. She crossed an intersection, and a breeze down the cross-street brought an acrid blast like burning plastic. _Oh,_ gross. _What was_ that _?_

She peered down the cross-street. A street-sweeper cleared the sidewalk. Three teenagers watched videos on each other’s phones and laughed. A line of customers waited for kebabs from a halal stand. A group of university administrators gathered around the hollowed-out shell of a commercial building, pointing, discussing. I knew which of these reeked of violence. Sinead suspected, but drew slowly closer to the street corner to confirm.

_They’re just a bunch of suits from UChicago,_ Sinead thought, her eyes watering from the smell of them. _What are_ they _going to do?_

_They mean to take a building that could be used as homes or businesses by the people who live here, and use it to profit themselves instead. Humans once called this practice ‘sacking’ or ‘pillaging.’ Is it not violence?_

_I’m not sure,_ Sinead said, studying the group of bureaucrats from her university. She wiped her burning eyes with the back of her hand. _But clearly_ you _think it is._

Her suggestion of subjectivity in my angel senses unnerved me. I had always thought of my angelic senses as objective and inviolable, as opposed to the subjective, flawed senses of humans. If my angelic senses were also subjective, then what could I rely on? Was there no remaining source of truth about the universe that I could trust?

_Jeez, I didn’t mean to trigger an existential crisis or whatever,_ Sinead thought, returning to her intended route. _I thought angels were the implacable will of God._

_I thought so, too, but my recent experience has shown me otherwise._

As Sinead walked up to the doors of the community center, my being rang with the resonance of a struck bell. I said, _Another one of my vessels is here._

Sinead frowned. _I’m the only one in my family who lives in Chicago._

She entered the community center, walked down the stairs to the common space of tables and chairs, where I saw who I knew I would see. _Your bloodline is one of two that I may possess as my vessels. The other bloodline is Novak. That girl, Claire, is the only survivor of that line._

Her body was hunched over a stack of binders on the table before her, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up, drawstrings knotted. _Oh, yeah, I shadowed a tutor who helped her with her science homework. She’s in the foster system, I think. Seems like she has a pretty messed-up life._

She did, and it was largely my fault. I looked at her small, hunched frame, the smallness of her inside, crushed inward by grief. I remembered her as my vessel, determined to save her father from the clutches of the devil. She had seemed vast as a world in herself. All my vessels did, when I possessed them. After all, they were large enough to contain the grace of an angel.

_Can you volunteer with Claire?_ I asked Sinead.

_It’s not really up to me, but I can ask._

Sinead spoke to the adult in charge of the program, who then spoke to Claire. When Claire looked up through her bangs at Sinead, I spread my wings, just the lower ones, and her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Sure,” she said tightly. She picked up her binders, held them before her like a shield, and led me and Sinead to one of the private study rooms off of the common space.

The moment Sinead closed the door, Claire snarled, “If you’re here to get me to be your vessel again, you can forget about it.”

_May I speak, Sinead?_ She allowed me to say, “I would never possess you without your consent, Claire.”

“You should _never_ possess us,” Claire spat. “Not even if we say yes. You shouldn’t ruin someone’s life even if they let you do it.” Her eyes swept Sinead up and down. “Does she know what you did to my family?”

Sinead froze. “What did Castiel do to your family?”

“He convinced my dad to go away with him. He was gone for a _year_. And then a demon possessed my mom because she wanted to get to Castiel. Now my mom’s dead and my dad’s probably dead too. Isn’t he?” Claire said to me, staring into me.

“Yes,” I said, with regret. “He is.”

Sinead’s hands tightened into fists. “You never said it was _dangerous_ to be your vessel.”

“He didn’t tell you because he knew you’d say no if he did,” Claire said.

“I didn’t say it because circumstances have changed,” I said. “I’m not at war with Hell at this time.”

Sinead volunteered, “I would’ve liked to know your track record with vessels, actually.”

If Claire was confused by Sinead and me speaking with the same voice, she didn’t show it.

“Would you both like to know my record with vessels? Your father wasn’t my first, Claire.” I felt my grace expand in the small room, the edges of my wings unfurling. “Before him, I possessed your ancestor Mordecai in the Prague ghetto – your family are converts from Judaism, if you trace back your line – and I helped Rabbi Loew refine the incantation to animate the Golem. I protected your ancestor and his entire community. Before him, I possessed your ancestor Miriam, and helped her and her family escape the destruction of the Temple, and smote down her pursuers. I am Castiel, the shield of God!”

“Okay, okay, put your wings back!” Claire half-screamed, and I snapped them shut with a guilty start. I hadn’t meant to scare the girl. Claire set down her binders with a thump, and sat down heavily. Sinead sat down across from her.

“Are you okay?” Sinead said. “I can tell Castiel to scram if he’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Claire said in a small voice.

“I am truly sorry about your father,” I said. “If it means anything to you, I now believe that I made mistakes in my approach to him. I didn’t tell him all the risks. I didn’t give him the space to negotiate his side of the agreement. My previous possessions had been much shorter in duration – I didn’t consider what it meant to possess a vessel long-term. However, he did know he might die in service.”

Claire blinked back tears. “Did he ever tell you why he chose you instead of me and Mom?”

“He didn’t see it that way – as a choice between me and you. He believed he was making the world a better place for you through his service. While I can’t know the precise impact of his choice, I think he did exactly that.”

Claire took a deep breath. “All right. All right. Enough. You can shut up now, Castiel.”

“So,” Sinead said awkwardly. “You still want some help with your homework?”

Claire sniffled and laughed. “Yes, please. This chemistry problem set is killing me.”

“Okay,” said Sinead. “Let’s do that.”

I remained quiescent throughout the remainder of Sinead and Claire’s time together. Claire thanked Sinead for the help, and had nothing more to say to me. When Sinead left the community center, she paused and leaned back against the brick wall with a sigh.

_I’ve decided I believe you,_ Sinead declared. _You really are an angel._

_I am._

_The whole angel radar thing you have is really cool, and part of me wants to do, like, a_ lot _more experiments with it. But the rest of me is pants-wettingly scared of you, so I think you’d better go back to Heaven or wherever._

_Thank you, Sinead. I appreciate the time that you gave me. Treat your family well. I have lived their lives, and they are all better for your presence in their lives._ I disentangled myself from the fibers of her being and floated away.

Soon, I found myself back in Julio’s heaven. I hovered near him in companionable silence as he flew a kite that looked like a luminescent purple jellyfish. I was in my true form, but Julio had seen me like this before, and accepted it with the same grace that Dean accepted the idiosyncrasies I manifested in my human vessels. ( _As long as you don’t knock out my kite with your wings,_ he’d warned me silently with a look.)

I looked up through the cloudless blue sky of Julio’s heaven at the Earth overhead – it could be overhead, if I so chose, and these days, I chose it more often, to remind myself to be humble. I didn’t know when or how I would next walk the Earth, with which feet. Humans had a saying: _Fools rush in where angels fear to tread._ I did not fear to tread the Earth. But the next time I did so, I would tread softly, and with care.

**Author's Note:**

> References I made in the fic, explained:  
> \- Siobhan and her polycule attended Firefly. Check out pictures [here](https://gallery.fireflyartscollective.org/) if you're curious.  
> \- At Firefly, Castiel sings "Eli, Eli" by Hannah Szenes, a Jewish woman who died fighting the Nazis in WWII. It's one of those classic Jewish songs that is both sad and so beautiful it makes your heart full. The specific line I quoted means, "Oh Lord, my Lord, I pray that these things never end."  
> \- In their initial awkward conversation, Castiel and Maebh discuss artworks like [The Ecstasy of St. Teresa](http://pavingthewayhome.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/ecstasy-bernini-1049x675.jpg) by Bernini.  
> \- Castiel and Maebh attended [Porchfest](http://www.porchfest.org/about-porchfest/), a local music festival that has been held annually in Ithaca since 2007.  
> \- _The Secret Life of Bees_ is a novel about a white girl in an abusive household who finds love and acceptance in a neighboring Black household that keeps bees.  
> \- UChicago has an unfortunate track record of replacing Black-owned businesses in Hyde Park with "college-friendly" chain stores.  
> \- In that speech about former vessels, Castiel references the Jewish folk tale of the Golem of Prague, and the historical destruction of the Great Temple in Jerusalem, of which only one wall remains.


End file.
